Flowers in the Corner

A Story by ghost

Date aftermath

The flowers in the corner are staring at me, and I feel guilty. The slowly wilting petals dare me to complain, dare me use my sympathy crutches, we’re the ones dying over here, -and dying for what? They were plucked from the earth to provide me with a message, a message of affection that I asked for, but didn’t necessarily want. They’re not roses, or tulips, I'm not sure what they are, in fact, all I know is that they’re just as disappointed in me as I am. Out of their death, came a feeling of uncertainty, of extreme discomfort, an awkward gesture of love. What do you want me to say? I accepted you, I put you in the sunny window, I put you in water, I even put the powder in the water, I can’t put you back in the ground, and I'm not the one who picked you, so stop staring at me. Everyone, stop staring at me.

We have a lot in common, small bunch of dying flowers, we do. We’re both picked off of a superficial basis, to fill a deeper purpose. Your plague is garden pests, and mine is limerence. The pests chew at your leaves in the same way that limerence peels at the layers of my heart, selfish and unrelenting. We’re easily stepped on, sometimes people don’t care to notice our beauty, so when someone picks us instead of the beautiful roses that steal the water from our roots, we appreciate it. It doesn’t matter who picks us, just that we are finally going to be released from our dirt prison, from the onslaught of the aphids, to a better place. It isn’t until after we’re dead-headed and put in the snug embrace of cheap plastic, given a weak rubber band to hold ourselves together, that we realize we’re dying. Our roots are gone, and we can’t go on for long without them. The rest of the time we have will be spent quickly, our colors will be the brightest they’ve ever been, but only until the band is snapped, the water spoils, and we’re cast into the trash can that rots next to the rose bush. I’m staring back at you now, appreciating your brilliant colors, I know your future and therefore my own, but I still can’t bring myself to covet the garden.